Avalon
by too-much-like-Luna
Summary: Arthur/Merlin in a post-slash and pre-slash way. Unable to remember how he got there, Arthur wanders in Avalon until he meets a man called Merlin, who tells him stories of a great kingdom and a greater king.


Notes: I originally wrote this for a Speech and Dramatic Arts exam I'm doing, for which I need to tell and original story (or a re-telling of a folktale) in less than 4 minutes. I don't think this will work for it, and in truth wasn't what I'd planned on writing, but then I read the last thirty pages of _Le Morte D'Arthur_, and this came about.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lancelot, Merlin, or Arthur (they own my soul though, does that count?)

Avalon

Arthur wakes suddenly, as though someone had shouted in his ear. He has no recollection of what he was doing before he slept, no concrete recollection of _anything_ but the grey sky above him and how the mist feels as it brushes against his body. Somehow Arthur knows that the mist is too heavy, too wet, and too warm to be _normal,_ just as he knows his name is Arthur without knowing exactly _why_.

He knows instinctively how to walk and talk, so he wanders for days or maybe only hours. Everywhere looks the same, an endless sea of mist, as if someone painted him into a landscape that was never finished.

He meets a man wearing armor just as he is, and Arthur asks the man whether they are in Heaven.

"No," the man says bitterly. "We aren't lucky enough for that, I reckon. This is the part of Avalon where non-magical people come to wait, or so I've been told. It could just as easily be Hell." The man gives an odd sort of abrupt bow and moves on, and is covered by the mist before Arthur can ask what they are waiting for.

He feels no hunger, neither for food nor human company, and never gets tired. He walks and walks and begins to get the idea that this land of mist never ends, when he meets another man, this one flickering as though his body does not want to stay there.

"Arthur," the man says, coming forward to meet him with a child-like grin, though his body seems to waver between that of a young man and one who appears as ancient as the land itself.

The man frowns when Arthur doesn't respond. "You don't recognize me," he says sadly.

"I'm sorry...?"

"No matter," the man says. "We'll deal. We always do."

The man, Arthur soon learns, is called Merlin, and they start wandering together.

"_I'm_ not transparent, am I?" Arthur asks once. "It's just, _you_ are."

Merlin looks back at him, a smile curling his lips and happy familiarity shinning out of his eyes. "You're depressingly substantial," he assures Arthur. Merlin anticipates Arthur's next question and says, "My body is trapped in a truly magnificent elm tree. Only my mind was free to find you."

Merlin can make images appear out of thin air, can make shapes twirl and tumble in front of them, and this Arthur accepts with equanimity. Slowly Merlin awakens in him a need to feel, a need to know, and when this becomes apparent Merlin begins making stories come to life for Arthur. He shows Arthur tales of a powerful sorcerer, a great king, and an even greater kingdom. He shows Arthur tales of betrayal, fear, and an adulterous love that shatters king and kingdom alike.

Once, Arthur asks Merlin what the tales _are,_ for they have awakened in him a terrifying feeling of familiarity. Merlin turns to him, and for the first time Arthur can put a label on the age Merlin portrays. He looks impossibly old, and infinitely weary, as though he has seen far too much of life.

"Nothing," Merlin says. "Nothing. They're just stories now."

"But they were more, once?" Arthur presses on.

"Once," Merlin agrees, turning away from Arthur to gaze into the mist. "And they'll be more again, someday. But for now you know only Avalon, to you the tales are only words and images, and so we wait."

When Merlin turns around to look at Arthur once more his smile is soft but sad, and his endless blue eyes speak of terrible truths.

_Fin_

Reviews make my day (I'm not feeling creative right now, or else my shameless begging for reviews would be more amusing and possibly more desperate)._  
_


End file.
